


UAW

by MalMao



Series: Sterek Drabbles on Tumblr (by deputyeyebrows) [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Flirting, M/M, Restaurant Owner!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMao/pseuds/MalMao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are they flirting? Stiles definitely thinks they’re flirting. <i>He’s</i> flirting. He’s about 65% certain that UAW is thinking about flirting <i>back</i>. But he’s not really known for being the best judge of these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	UAW

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> #stiles texting scott about derek probably (tag via [raisesomehale](http://raisesomehale.tumblr.com/); [original post](http://ebunnies.tumblr.com/post/53801902987/omgf))

“Dude,  _no_.”

“You haven’t  _seen_  him Scott,” Stiles tells his friend over the phone. He’s attempting to use his menu as a partition and peering around the edges conspicuously to make sure Unfairly Attractive Waiter isn’t lurking nearby. He looks as though he could be a lurker. But like…in a good way.

“I don’t have to  _see_  him to know that you’re about to get overly attached, completely bomb, and spend the next week on my couch with one of those extra-large pizzas from Antonio’s.”

“That seems like a hasty assumption,” he mutters under his breath.

“Allison is coming home tomorrow, Stiles. I can’t babysit you.”

“You should probably tone on the judginess right now. Allison has literally only been gone for three days, and you’ve been talking like you’re in the Sahara and she’s the last glass of water on the planet.” Stiles pushes the menu down flat onto the table and splays his hand across the center fold. “ _Also_. I resent the implication that I am in need of a nanny when in distress.”

“You’re in need of a nanny on a good day,” Scott tells him flatly. “In distress, you need an entire daycare center.”

“Shit!” Stiles whispers harshly. “He’s coming back, bro. I gotta jet.”

“Stiles! Make sure you don’t say ‘gotta jet’ at any point in the conversation! Stil—”

“Heeeeey,” he drawls as Unfairly Attractive Waiter comes to stand a few feet from his table. The other man’s eyes trail down Stiles’ body and back up in either appreciation or contempt. Stiles seriously can’t tell with that face.

“You know what you want yet?” The guy doesn’t even attempt to smile. Stiles doesn’t really notice though because, honestly, he’s a little lost in that question.

Yes. Yes he knows  _exactly_  what he wants, and what he wants is to dispose of that crisp white shirt that is stretched just a  _little_  too tightly across UAW’s chest. Seriously, couldn’t he have sized up? For the sake of Stiles’ sanity?

“Sir?” the waiter prompts, one dark eyebrow raised.

“What? Oh, right! Menu. I, um…what—what do  _you_  recommend?”

“Most things are good,” he tells him noncommittally. “It just depends on what you like.”

“So if I said I like spicy?”

“I’d suggest you get something spicy.”

Stiles side eyes him, takes in his slightly closed off posture and the lack of warmth in his expression. Hell, he doesn’t even have a notepad anywhere  _near_  his person.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” he asks after a moment. He keeps his tone playful. Tries not to sound as though he’s reprimanding.

The man shrugs in response, but if Stiles isn’t mistaken, the corner of his lips have turned slightly upward.

“You’re not worried about getting fired?”

“Not really.” His pale eyes dart to the window behind Stiles briefly, and his previously defensive stance is now marginally softer. He’s definitely smiling, but it’s contained.

“Very self-assured I see.”

“In this case, extremely.”

“And why’s that?” Are they flirting? Stiles definitely thinks they’re flirting.  _He’s_  flirting. He’s about 65% certain that UAW is thinking about flirting  _back_. But he’s not really known for being the best judge of these things.

The waiter’s head ticks minutely to the side before opening, “For starters?” He tilts forward the smallest amount, his voice dropping half an octave, “I’m not actually a waiter here.”

Stiles can’t help it. He’s the son of the Sheriff and his first assumption is always— _always_ —the worst possible one. He eyes his half empty glass of Cola warily. “Why are you…ya know…waiting tables then? That’s a little weird, dude.”

“They were short on staff,” UAW replies like it’s nothing.

“So…what? Did they pick you up off the street? Or do they like…grow you at the gym next door?”

“Oh the last one, definitely.”

“Not surprised,” he pretends to examine his menu, as he has been sporadically for the entirety of this conversation. It might as well be in Italian for all he’s actually read. “That place is pretty shady. They are missing out on a  _seriously_  lucrative business venture, though. I mean,” Stiles stops to give the other man’s chest an obviously appreciative glance, “damn.”

“ _Wow_ ,” he replies, wide eyed and mouth serious. “That was by  _far_  the most overt flirtation I have ever heard.” Stiles thinks there are probably people, tons of them, who believe this guy has no sense of humor, no sense of  _fun_. Stiles can see that he does though. It’s right there, tugging at UAW’s lips and so dry that it’s cracking.

“That bad?” Stiles winces.

“Worse. And I once got, ‘Is there a mirror in your pocket?’”

He can’t even keep the amusement from his voice when he inquires, “Wait why?”

“‘Because I keep seeing myself in your pants,’” the waiter intones without even the hint of an inflection and completely straight faced.

Stiles lets out a barking laugh. The couple at the table in front of him shoot a pinched look his way. UAW’s eyes say he’s apologetic, but his lips look anything but.  “Are you sure that wasn’t me?” Stiles asks. “Because it sounds like something I’d say. I’m not even ashamed to admit it.”

“No um…” the other man rubs the back of his neck absently, looking everywhere but at Stiles. “Pretty sure I’d remember if it was you.”

“Oh?  _Oh_!” Oh god. Oh no. He’s flirting back. And he’s being  _shy_  about it. He’s not just hot; he’s fucking _cute_. Stiles is  _screwed_. “Woah really? That’s just—I mean—wait this…this got away from me. Why are you waiting tables for them again?”

“I’m the owner,” he concedes.

“You’re Hale?”

“Derek Hale.”

“Of ‘Hale’s Kitchen’?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my  _god_ , I’m so glad I met you!”

Derek smiles a little, “Why?”

“So I can tell you how awful that pun is! Did you like…buy a restaurant just so you could call it that? Did you dream of this as a child? Did you sit around with your protein shakes, imagining the moment you’d be able to successfully make that joke a reality?”

“You talk a lot.”

“And you’re blushing. I’m totally right.”

“Pick something to eat.”

“Bossy, too,” Stiles mutters. There is absolutely no way Derek missed the lewd undertone either.

“I’m checking on the other tables now,” and Derek’s feet actually seem to be obeying his words and not the amusement in his tone.  

Shit, Stiles didn’t even tell him his name. What if his enjoyment was all a ruse? What if he doesn’t actually come back? What if they never see each other again? He’s getting away!

“Stiles!” he blurts in lieu of a suave transition.

“I’m sorry?”

“Stiles. Is my name.”

“Sounds like a nickname from an 80’s film.”

“Uh…well I mean—” Stiles tilts his head a little, about to concede. “Totally not the point. My real name is hard to pronounce. It’s…Polish. Stiles Stilinski is the…full thing.”

“I speak Polish.”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously, “…you do not.”

“I do,” Derek answers, obviously enjoying his disbelief.

And, yeah, okay it’s probably a bad idea, but Stiles just…pulls out wallet without taking his eyes off of the other man—without even  _thinking_  about it—and places his driver’s license on the table for him to read.

Derek’s pronunciation is near perfect. All rhythmic and round. Stiles has never actually heard his name roll from the tongue of anyone that isn’t his immediate family. He was not at all prepared for it. It’s extremely attractive. It…was probably not a good idea to do this here. Stiles thinks he’s lucky that he has such an extensive “mental de-boner” archive for times like these. He’s going to have to have to whip out the memory of all those sponge baths he had to give while volunteering at the nursing home that one summer for this.

“It’s not too bad,” Derek tells him, completely unaware of the damage he’s caused.

Scott was totally wrong. Stiles is definitely not going to get overly attached. He’s going to get just the right amount of attached, because he is going to marry the  _fuck_  out of this dude.

Luckily for all parties involved—and most likely the entire restaurant as well—this is the exact moment his father slides into the booth across from him, muttering apologies for his tardiness and exaggerated stories about the traffic. Or…something. Stiles isn’t really paying attention.

“I’ll let you look at the menu some more,” Derek says with a grin when Stiles continues staring on in barely restrained awe. Maybe he  _does_  know what he’s done. The bastard.

“Someone you know?” his father asks once Derek is an appropriate distance from them.

“Never met him before. He’s my future husband,” Stiles tells him with conviction.

The Sheriff doesn’t even look up from his menu, “Sounds about right.”

When Stiles gets the ticket and there’s a phone number scrawled in small, neat hand writing at the bottom, he tries not to grin too widely. But then Derek responds to his first text with the absolute  _worst_ pick up line Stiles has ever heard and he doesn’t even try to hold back. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://theartfuljackdawkins.tumblr.com)


End file.
